Strikingly Similar
by taking-the-hobbits-to-asgard
Summary: When Bucky Barnes quite literally falls at the feet of a certain god, the above god decides that it's impolite to kill him. Because killing people is oh-so-very-rude. And then there's Steve and co. who are also on The Quest for Bucky. Shenanigans ensue. Loki and Bucky friendship is the main focus. Set post-CATWS and post-TTDW. Rated T for possible triggers and language.
1. Chapter 1

_**Strikingly Similar**_

One year and counting. Since he died. As much as he hates to say it, he misses him, his oaf of a brother. Loki smiles bitterly.

"Never even dreamt that I'd think that," he mumbles into the freezing air. "Never in my wildest fantasies did I ever think that I'd miss my brother and his idiotic ways."

He stands at the edge of a forest, which he's pretty sure is in Canada, but you never know with Midgard. It's all the same. All so polluted and overrun with humans. He suppresses a sneer at the thought of them. Loki has developed a distinct and bitter hatred of humans, which definitely isn't brought on by his humiliating defeat at their hands two years ago.

But on the run, hunted by too many species, too many people, he doesn't quite know what to do. In the past few years, he doubts that many other people had angered as many as he has. It's quite a feat, he admits to himself. Whether it's something to be proud of, is a different matter. Odin certainly wouldn't be. He smirks. The old fool is probably celebrating his death. No honour for liars and tricksters. Just shame and disgust. But then again, what did Odin expect? The idiot adopted, without consent, he notes, the son of his enemy! The Jotnar are despised for their cunning and sharp minds, so why should Loki be any different? He scowls, and stares with hatred at the scars that adorn his Jotun skin.

It's cold up here, he admitted to himself about an hour ago, and reluctantly changed his form to the skin better suited to sulking in freezing forests. And he hates it. Hates himself. If he wasn't such a selfish brute, if he wasn't such a coward as he's been repeatedly told, he tells himself, he'd have committed suicide long, long ago. Ended the pain, ended the suffering that he has brought upon too many worlds. But he's scared to do so, and so for that reason he carries on, bitter and angry. With scarlet eyes he surveys the white-and-green wasteland before him. He doesn't expect to see a dark shape moving across the icy tundra. He narrows his eyes, reverting to his Aesir skin, because nobody expects to see a man out here, let alone a blue on. Unless they were frostbitten, he muses, but that's going off topic. The figure has a metal arm, Loki notes. They move catlike, so possibly an assassin. Maybe they've been sent to kill him. It's a man, with long dark-brown hair and what looks like a mask or muzzle covering his lower face. Loki shudders, remembering the constraints he was forced to wear upon his capture by SHIELD.

The man hasn't seen me yet, Loki realises, and from the way the would-be assassin is stumbling around, he looks injured, or disoriented. Could be a soldier, from the black clothing that makes him stick out like a sore thumb against the pure white snow. But he's not here on purpose, for that exact reason. Who sends a killer into action where they can easily be seen? Amateurs.

The man draws closer, and Loki shifts into a stance that will make it easy to both deliver and dodge any blows that this mysterious person could instigate. But as the figure stumbles towards him, Loki notes the blood soaking into the snow, and he can distinctly hear the muffled noises of pain that make their way out from behind the mask. He can see the obvious limp from what appears to be a knife wound. So not an assassin. A hunted man, like himself. Loki raises an eyebrow, because this unexpected turn of events could turn in his favour.

They are close enough now, so that when the man lifts his head and registers Loki's existence with chilling, pale blue eyes, Loki does take notice of the pure pain and fear that clouds the man's expression. And he knows the look all too well, and he knows exactly what the owner of the bright blue eyes is feeling and thinking, because it is a feeling of _terror_ and _pain_ and _unknowing_ and everything in between that he has experienced time and time again, throughout his life.

And when the man collapses barely a metre in front of him in an ungainly heap, yanking the mask from his face and mumbling a "Please, help me," in what Loki is sure is a Brooklyn accent, it is only the striking similarity in both mind and feelings between himself and this person that allows his cold heart to melt (for a moment, he tells himself). Concentrating hard, because healing was never his 'thing', he decides that the best way to help this man is to knock him out. So he does. With magic, of course. Because Loki Laufeyson is definitely not the sort of person who punches other people in the face. He'd _never_ do _that_.

Bucky Barnes awakes very fast, and sits up very fast, because he's not entirely sure where he is and what has happened. He appears to be on the very edge of a forest, and propped up against a tree. Last time he remembered, he had a knife in his leg. But he doesn't now. And Bucky is relatively sure that he doesn't perform surgery in his sleep.

"Ah, you're awake."

A cold, mildly amused voice cuts through the air like a knife. A really sharp, British knife. The sound sets Bucky's teeth on edge, and he clambers to his feet clumsily, wincing slightly, as even the strongest magic cannot heal an infected stab wound in twelve hours.

"Who's there?" he shouts, voice shaking a little, but he tries to sound scary and intimidating like he did when he was looking after Steve, all those years ago. He really needs to find Steve, and he was, until he ran into some people who did not like him and had decided to put a knife in his thigh. A knife which is now not where it was yesterday – ie in his leg – and Bucky is pretty sure that the currently disembodied voice has something to do with it.

"Well done. It _was_ me who healed you. Clever boy."

Bucky spins around, because this time the voice was _definitely _behind him. He is rewarded by the sight of a dark haired man leaning against a tree, with the kind of expression that reminds him all too well of death and pain. It's the look of a hunted man. A man consumed by suffering and injustice. The man is tall, taller than Bucky, but leaner and for some reason, intensely more powerful. High cheekbones, long black hair, too-bright eyes, and pale, pale skin give the effect of something otherworldy, inhuman. He's dressed in some kind of alien armour, all black and gold and green. Bucky is pretty sure that this is the kind of person that throws knives and wields magic. It's just a feeling, but Bucky is almost certain that his suspicions are correct.

"You're not human." Bucky states bluntly.

The figure rolls his eyes, and steps more into the light.

"Loki Laufeyson, God of Lies, Mischief, Chaos, and generally making life hard for people I don't like. Pleased to meet you. I'd rather like to know who you are, since you did collapse at my feet twelve hours ago, and I was obliged to heal you. Leaving you to die would be just plain rude, correct?"

The god grins at him. It's a wolf's smile, which doesn't quite reach his eyes, giving him an aura of madness and insanity. Bucky already thinks that 'Loki' is both terrifying and brilliant, and would be a powerful ally on The Quest for Steve. Because yes, his memory is returning to him faster and faster, the longer he's been away from HYDRA. Steve would know.

"I'm James Buchanan Barnes, formerly of the Howling Commandos. Call me Bucky. The people I like normally do. Thank you for saving my life." Bucky says with half-smile, extending a hand for the god to shake, which he does, and his hands are freezing cold, and marred with the scars and calluses that mark a warrior or assassin. Bucky has the feeling that Loki is both.

The god smiles again, this time more genuinely, and Bucky can tell these things, because Loki's eyes seem to twinkle a little more mischievously, and slightly less madly. Slightly. There's a difference, he decides there and then. A difference between mischief and madness. In a voice that Bucky is sure haunts the nightmares of many, Loki replies, tilting his head to one side.

"You're welcome, Bucky. Very welcome indeed. Now, you want to find Steve Rogers, correct?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Here?"

"Yeah, that'll do."

"You sure?"

"Steven Grant Rogers. I am the Black Widow. I'm pretty sure I can walk to my apartment."

"I can drive you a bit further, if you want..."

"STEVE!"

"Fine. But I won't leave until you're in your apartment block safely."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Bloody blokes from the '40s. But thanks."

Natasha Romanoff scrambles off the back of Steve's motorbike with a distinct lack of grace for an ex-assassin, and he laughs under his breath at her mild discomfort.

"Oh, shut up." she grumbles, kissing his cheek and waving as she jogs down the pavement towards her apartment.

"See you tomorrow!" Steve yells, as she approaches her apartment block.

"Will do, Spangles." she shouts back, with a jaunty wave.

Steve and Sam and Natasha have been attempting to track down and hug rescue the elusive Winter Soldier for three months now, meeting up at Sam's house two days a week, and Steve's place for two, and then Natasha's for two. Sundays are their days off, but they generally spend Sundays as a trio, doing normal-human-stuff. Steve finds himself smiling at the fact that he has best friends again. The same goes for Natasha and Sam, because they all have lost people close to them, and have been through war, and so these strange qualities have brought them closer together. They haven't heard anything about Bucky since the SHIELD incident three months ago.

Steve, being an annoyingly cheerful and optimistic kind of person, thinks that Bucky has broken free from HYDRA. Natasha, being really rather cynical person, thinks the opposite, and that Bucky is either dead or has been re-captured. Sam, being intelligent and preferring not to incur the wrath of Captain America or the Black Widow, reckons that Bucky is stumbling around some wilderness, with little memory. But enough.

There _was_ a sighting recorded of Bucky, in _Canada_ of all places. The SHIELD outpost there saw a shape recognisable as the Winter Soldier moving across some frozen wasteland. He was being pursued by some enemies of his, and SHIELD did blow up the enemy helicopter, but not before Bucky was wounded and had disappeared into the forest. Steve had shouted at the outpost commander for his stupidity and lack of intelligence, seeing that the Winter Soldier really did need help. Natasha had politely told the commander that he was 'a total fucking dickhead'. Sam had told Steve and Natasha to shut up and stop insulting people. Clint Barton was coming over tomorrow, Tasha had said. To help, and probably add some light relief. Steve grins at memories of the archer's antics and general happy-go-lucky attitude. Clint was a good man, and would be a great friend.

After ensuring Natasha's safety, Steve hopped back on his motorbike and drove down the street, bathed in the orangey glow of the streetlamps. For the first time in, well, a very long time, Steve felt happy and at peace.

_I never knew that gods swore_, thought Bucky. But apparently so. Well, he assumed it was swearing, because Loki had the sort of expression that most people (aliens?) have when they swear. It wasn't in English, that's for sure. Or Russian. Or Romanian. Probably Alien, he decided, throwing himself to the freezing ground, in an attempt to dodge the bullets (lasers?) raining down on them. Loki shouted something in Alien, and there was a big flash of green light and the helicopter (spaceship?) that had been pursuing the pair for the last few hours disappeared. Or blew up. Bucky wasn't quite sure, but either option was plausible when you're on the run with a particularly _chaotic_ god such as Loki. Bucky stood up, wincing a little, mainly because throwing yourself onto the ground normally results in pain of some sorts. He glanced over at his new friend. The god raised an eyebrow.

"Are you injured?" Loki says, with the barest hint of worry in his voice. He was a bit worried, yes, but not really. That's what he told himself, anyway.

"Yeah, I'm good." Bucky replies. "Got one question. What the Hell was that?"

"A helicopter full of ignorant humans. Looking for you, I think. Would that be because of your status as an ex-HYDRA agent?" the god answers, rolling his eyes.

Bucky scowls. He's sick and tired of being a wanted man. As is Loki, he presumes. But you never know with aliens. _Asgardians, _he reminds himself.

"Right. Nothing new there."


	3. Chapter 3

Loki scowls at the sky, the stars are clear and shining brightly, the blue-black heavens unmarred by pollution. The god turns towards him and half-smiles at the state Bucky is in - muddied and bruised.

"It's getting late. You're tired, you should get some rest." he says, "We're nearing the border, which we will reach tomorrow. I know how we can cross, but you'll need lots of energy."

Bucky nods, because Loki is exactly right. Crossing the border was one of the hardest things he's done. Bucky sits down, leaning against a tree, head cushioned by the bark. The god sits upright against a tree opposite him, and with a casual gesture, there is a fire blazing between them. Bucky is only just getting used to the random and lazy displays of magic. But there's something troubling him, and he needs answers.

"Loki? Can I ask you something?"

His friend looks up at him, and spreads his hands as if to say, _go on then._

"What really happened in New York?"

And the god freezes, and a look of pure, unadulterated _fear _flashes across his face.

"Do you want the whole story? It's unsettling, I grant you."

Bucky nods.

"A long time ago, I fell into the Void. All falls have an end, as did mine. I was found by Thanos, the mad Titan. He is consumed by power, and wants nothing more than to control the universe in it's entirety. He wants control over the Nine Realms. I will explain them to you later." he says quietly. Saying this seems to be hard for him, Bucky notes. The god takes a deep breath and carries on.

"Thanos found me, helpless and scared. And he exploited me. Exploited my emotions, as I was bitter and angry and vengeful after my fall. I wanted nothing more than revenge. And I didn't care who I sought vengeance upon. He manipulated me to become the perfect soldier, to lead his Chitauri army into battle. I refused. I refused to kill innocents. So Thanos tortured me. Showed me visions of what would become of the Earth and my peoples. He would murder my family, give them slow, painful deaths, and then both my worlds, Asgard and Jotunheim-"

"Both?" Bucky interrupts quietly.

"Later."

"He would burn them. Burn Midgard. Humans are so defenseless, that I, and my people, vowed to protect it. So Thanos took that, and used it as a threat. And I was physically tortured, not just mentally. Burn, flogged, branded. Everything that they could do to break my will and my spirit."

Loki stopped, glaring fiercely into the flames. Bucky gritted his teeth. He knew the feeling. He and Loki were not so different. The god sat up straight, staring directly at Bucky, and carried on.

"Eventually, I snapped. I agreed to Thanos' terms, with blood dripping from my mouth. I hoped that my conquering of Midgard would mean that he would leave it be. So he sent me to Midgard, to Earth, with five words: _Burn Them, Burn Them All. _And of course, you know the rest."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "There you have it. Make of it what you wish."

"I'm sorry. I know exactly how you must feel. To be a weapon. To be forced into submission. To hurt the people you care about."

The god half-smiled at him.

"Thank you. We are not so different, you and I."


	4. Chapter 4

Steve knocks on the screen door and steps back. It's getting colder by the day, frost adorning the grass in front of Sam's home. Frost reminds him of winter, in turn reminding him of Bucky. He chuckles, shaking his head. _I'm like a high schooler with a crush, for heaven's sake._

"Steve?"

Sam pokes his head around the door, a quizzical and slightly worried expression on his usually cheery face. "Sorry to interrupt your daydreams, but Clint's here and he's got some news.

Steve frowns. "Good news or bad news?"

Anything that brings them closer to finding Bucky is undoubtedly _good news_, but the look on Sam's face worries him, because Sam has always been the risk-taker, the daredevil, and to see him unnerved is new, but not in a good way.

Sam rubs his chin, "You can decide that for yourself. It's kind of a mix of both, I guess."

Stepping inside, Natasha and Clint are seated at the kitchen table, peering at a couple of A4 sized photos. Natasha's back is to him, so he can't see her face, but the blond archer glances up at him as he enters, a grim expression written on his face.

"It's not lookin' good, Cap." Clint mutters, rubbing his eyes. "Dunno what you're gonna make of it."

Steve's eyes widen in anticipation, and he hurriedly sits down next to Natasha, who wordlessly slides an photo across to him, pushing her trademark scarlet hair off her face tiredly.

Leaning over the photo, he can just pick out two figures, running across a frozen wasteland. _Canada._ One is undoubtedly Bucky, light glinting off his silver arm, and Steve's heart leaps in joy. _So he's alive. Is that the good news? _

He glances at Natasha, who shakes her head. "That's not the issue. Look at the other person."

She taps the taller figure with a red-painted nail. Steve peers at it closer, and a cold chill creeps down his spine. He knows the silhouetted figure. Tall, lean, and positively dangerous. Would still recognise it in a hundred years_. Shit._

"Loki." he breathes, "It can't be. Thor said he was dead, right?"

Sam sighs, flopping down next to Clint. "We've tried to contact him, and yes, last time we spoke, Loki was confirmed dead. Apparently not, though."

"Are-are you sure it's him? Loki, I mean." Steve says quietly. Clint shakes his head. "Nah. It's him. I'd know, of course."

The archer glares at his hands, and Natasha leans over and pats his shoulder consolingly. It's been hard for Clint, getting over what had happened. Been hard for all of them.

"In that case," Steve mutters, "We really need to contact Thor. On a basis of world security."

Clint scowls. "As Sam said, we've tried, but to no avail. He's worlds away. Agent Coulson is getting Jane Foster to come in to help us. She's an expert in astrophysics, especially off-world ones. She also has a close relationship with Thor, which could be useful."

Steve nods again. "Have we got Stark in on this?"

Natasha sighs. "Yeah. We need a tech guy for this, and if Loki is planning on world domination again, we're gonna need all the help we can get."

"I don't think he is. Planning world domination, I mean. When he took control of my mind, I saw things, saw him. He was tortured, manipulated into to taking the Earth. I hate to say this, but Loki is like Bucky. Very similar. They were taken, and turned into weapons. So no, I'd rule out world domination." Clint says gruffly, staring at nothing in particular.

Steve's jaw drops.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so sorry that this is so late, I've had a hectic week with exams and whatnot, and then added family drama. Again, I'm very sorry, and I'll try to keep more up-to-date. Thank you all for much-loved, appreciated, and eagerly-read reviews!  
**

* * *

Natasha speaks first.

"You gotta be kidding, Barton."

"Tasha, are you sure you hit him on the head hard enough?" Steve mutters, giving his friend a sideways glance.

"Clint, I swear to god, if this is a joke..." Sam sighs, passing a hand over his eyes wearily.

The archer shakes his head, smiling slightly. "You all missed so much. It's obvious. Natasha?"

Natasha sits up, arching an eyebrow. "What?"

"Am I right in thinking you spoke to Loki soon after the Stuttgart incident?"

"Yes, in the prison chamber. I don't normally say this, but hell, he scared the life out of me." She goes quiet for a moment, and stares at her hands. Forcing a smile, she tilts her head and glances at her best friend. "Anyway why do want to know?" Natasha peers closely at Clint, who remains inscrutable, but slightly amused.

"What colour were his eyes?" He says, with the air of someone who already knows the answer.

Natasha frowns. "Weird question. Uh, blue. Yeah. Creepy blue. Same sort of colour yours were, I s'pose." She shudders.

Clint grins. "And after his, ah, _argument_, with Bruce, do you remember what colour his eyes were? I imagine he was contained by SHIELD for a few days, and they always take detailed records of their favourite criminals."

Natasha thinks for a moment. "Green. Pale green, I think. He seemed to have a bit of a change of character, y'know, after the battle. He was quieter, more willing to cooperate"

"And, you remember my 'cranial recalibration'? How I was back to normal after being hit hard on the head?" Clint says, with a sideways smile.

"I imagine the same effect would take place after a close and personal meeting with the Hulk." Steve says slowly. "Clint, you genius."

The archer smiles crookedly. "I only figured it out a few days ago. It's why I was so eager to meet up with you guys when I found the picture of him and Bucky. When Thor told us Loki was dead, I didn't want to share what I knew. It was old, nobody would believe me. And anyway, since he was dead and gone, there was not much point in proving his innocence."

Sam chuckles. "So basically, our friendly neighbourhood psychopath isn't in fact a psychopath. Brilliant."

Natasha scowls. "Yeah, but it also means that there is someone, or something, even worse than Loki. Something capable of controlling Norse gods."

Steve groans. "I hate to say this, but we're gonna need Stark."

* * *

"SHUT UP!"

"Tony, do me a huge favour and stop yelling at the phone." Pepper sighs, poking her boyfriend in the shoulder. "It's eleven o'clock, you've got a press conference at twelve, you twit."

"Nope. I'm tired."

"I love you and all, but for God's sake just answer the goddamn phone!"

Tony pulls a mock-grumpy face and rolls off their bed, landing on the floor with a thud. Groaning, he pushes himself up, and tugs on a t-shirt over his head.

Pepper glances at the screen of Tony's mobile, raising her eyebrows.

"It's Steve, if that's an incentive."

Tony leaps up off the floor and grabs the phone.

"'Sup, Captain Spangles. What can I do for you today?"

There's an audible sigh from the other end of the phone, and Steve launches into a long and detailed explaination that Tony barely hears, because hes tucked the phone into the crook of his shoulder and is busy making himself cereal.

He rubs his eyes, yawning down the phone. "Whaddya say, Stevie? It's so bloody early, Christ, who even phones at this time?"

Steve sighs, rolling his eyes. "I do. Do you want me to repeat what I just said?"

"Uh. Yeah. Please." He says, sitting down. Tony has a slight feeling that this will be a very long phonecall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello there! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Speaking of which, I need a few ideas for the plot, like where it could end, what could happen etc, because I'm suffering from a bit of writer's block. If you have any ideas as to improve/add to the story, please leave a review or PM me. Thank you all so much!**

* * *

Sam laughs slightly at Steve's attempts to explain the situation to a very confused Tony.

"No, he's a good guy now. Well, I say _good_. Less bad, maybe. No. No. Don't bring the suit. Canada is a few days drive away. Look, if we go at all, it won't be today. Maybe tomorrow, but don't get excited. Tony. TONY. CALM DOWN."

Sam frowns for a moment. "Clint?"

"Yeah?" the archer looks up from his toast, elbows leaning on the checkered tablecloth.

"I thought SHIELD disbanded. How'd you get the photos?" Sam asks, gesturing at the pictures in question.

Clint smiles slightly. "It did. SHIELD broke up completely, although Phil Coulson and his team are working on setting it back up again. The picture came from one of his agents, Skye Ward. She was up their anyway with a couple of other agents, a routine sweep, and she said she'd keep an eye out for him."

Sam nods. "Right."

"Brilliant. You'll be over in ten minutes. See ya." Steve plonks the phone down with a barely-disguised groan. "Tony will be here in a bit. Ready yourselves."

* * *

"OW!"

Loki turns around so quickly that he's pretty sure he might get whiplash. Bucky is hopping around on one foot making noises like a kitten. The god frowns, tilting his head to one side. "Are you alright?"

Bucky stops and smiles crookedly. "Yeah. Hit my toe on a tree."

Loki sighs, turning away to hide a smile. "You know, I will never understand mortals and their incessant clumsiness."

Bucky makes a noise of disapproval, jogging the last few metres so that they can walk side by side. "Rude."

"Oh, I've heard that a lot. Anyway. I've told you my story. Let's hear yours. It's a long walk to the border."

The soldier laughs slightly, running his metal hand through his hair. "Uh, okay. It's not as dramatic as yours-"

"Oh, I'll be the judge of that." Loki says quietly. "Go on."

"Right. So, during the Second World War - wait do you know what that was?"

"A petty mortal conflict. Yes, I do."

Bucky winces. He's getting used to the dismissal of what seem like huge events, but from a god's perspective they must look tiny. He shudders at the thought of the wars that must take place wherever Loki is actually from.

"Uh, yeah. Anyway. I fell off a train going along a mountain route, basically, and I nearly died. Lost my arm in the process. Hydra found me, 'fixed' me - " Bucky gestures to his silver arm, "And they wiped my memories. Every last one. And they made me their slave, their soldier, their pet. I carried out murders for them, I did their dirty work." He pauses, and in his mind sees the faces of every person who's life he ended. Bucky swallows hard.

"I know the feeling. You see their faces at night, you hear their screams again. And you know that there is nothing you can do, there is no going back." Loki says in the same quiet, respectful voice. He turns to Bucky, and smiles sadly. "I know."

Bucky takes a deep breath. "That's the short version. After SHIELD and Hydra went down a few months ago, I've been on the run. And slowly but surely, my memories are coming back. I think the erasing must wear off after a while."

Loki is silent for a moment, and he then speaks. "I-I could help you with that. I can return your memories."


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is dedicated to pallyndrome because they gave me a really good idea for this chapter, so a massive thank you to them!**

** So sorry it's so late. Warning for violence and angst.**

* * *

_The first thing he knows is pain. White hot and unyielding, it throws his eyes open and forces sharp intake of breath from his lips._

_When he sees where he is, the second thing he knows is fear. Raw and harsh, the terror seeps into his very bones. He has never felt this scared in his long, long life. Not even when he discovered what his true parentage was. That was nowhere near the true horror he feels right now. _

_The small, dark room has walls of rough rock, as if it was carved into a cave wall. There is a heavy iron door at the other end of the cell, which gives no indication as to where he is. There is little to no light, but a small window high up behind him lends a stream of golden light into the room. _

_His wrists are locked into iron manacles, which are in turn connected to long chains, secured to the walls either side of him. His legs and feet are free, but there is little he can do. He is stripped to the waist, and what he can see of his pale skin is covered in angry red welts and long, raised gashes. His back feels torn to shreds, and there is a puddle of dark red blood pooling at his feet. His back burns, as if he was being torched by dragonfire. A feeling he has known before. _

_He cannot cry for help, for his mouth and jaw are clamped into a silver muzzle, that stops him from speaking or moving his face at all. It digs into his skin, and he can feel blood trickling from the deep cuts that run along the edges. _

_His head droops onto his bare chest, raven hair matted and falling into his eyes. He cannot relax, for the chains at his wrists pull his arms taut and above him. He feels a little like one of those figures he has seen in Midgardian churches. Like a martyr. He smirks slightly behind the muzzle._

_Lifeless green eyes stare blankly at the floor, where there are bloody footprints, and the tell-tale signs of where a whip has been dragged, soaked in blood, across the cool ground. He knows, without looking, that the wall behind him is spattered with blood. His blood. With a shudder, he attempts to shift his wrists in the manacles in a short-lived try to ease the pain, but they are locked so tightly that the movement rubs against raw and bleeding skin, and he hisses in pain._

_There is nothing to live for now. Nobody to mourn him. Nobody who will cry. He laughs bitterly, throat raw and voice hoarse. _

_Before I die, he thinks, I want to see the sun again. Craning his neck, he twists to look out of the high window. A gold shaft of light streams through, landing on his upturned face. He blinks, features softening. Yes, this is how I will dies._

_For the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson closes his eyes and gives up._

* * *

With a start, Loki sits up fast, breathing hard. He claps a hand to his mouth. No muzzle. Good. His back isn't hurting, and he is exactly where he was before he fell asleep. He takes a deep, shuddery breath, wiping away the cold sweat that has formed on his forehead. He is still scared.

Bucky wakes up at the slight noise, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Loki is sitting across the campfire from him, black hair messy and a haunted look in his green eyes. The flickering flames cast strange shadows on his face, making him even more ethereal than before. Bucky scrambles to his feet, padding over to his friend, who doesn't seem to notice him, staring blankly into the fire.

"Loki? Are you okay?" Bucky says quietly. He knows these symptoms, they are those of PTSD, something he has seen in soldiers from all walks of life.

"It wasn't a flashback." Loki mumbles, still attempting to calm himself down. Bucky pats his back slightly, and Loki winces, arching away from him, a hiss of air escaping his lips.

"Sorry." He mutters, shuffling closer to Bucky. "I don't, as a rule, have flashbacks. It's normally nightmares, but this one seemed so real, that it felt like-like a premonition."

Bucky frowns. He doesn't want to ask Loki what occurred in his dream, but he's sure that it was pretty awful to spook a god like that.

"I think," says Loki, steeling himself, "that what I saw is going to happen. And it will happen soon."


End file.
